


if they don't dance, well, they're no friends of mine

by maliatxte



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Dance, F/F, allusions to Finn/Raven but trust me that doesn't last very long, also there's swearing sometimes, clarke is a tap dancer who doesn't think she's good enough, dance team au, kind of a slow burn but you won't have to wait /too/ many chapters, lexa is a former comp kid who just wants to be loved, lots of red lipstick and gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-19 22:29:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8226857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maliatxte/pseuds/maliatxte
Summary: Clarke and Lexa meet for the first time in the dorms their freshman year.They meet for the second time at the first meeting for Grounders, the university dance team.Told in a series of anecdotes; four years of heart eyes, squad goals, Bellamy the Token Male Dancer, red lipstick, hairspray, choreography arguments, shitty rehearsal spaces and worse stage floors, sore muscles, dance outlet trips, comparing bruises and Beyonce songs ensue. The dance team AU that no one asked for.





	1. first weeks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which clarke makes some friends, lexa is good at everything, and octavia finds a toenail clipping during warmup

_september, freshman year._

The first things Clarke Griffin unpacks in her first year at Polis University are her dance shoes.

Her battered, worn-out dance paws had traveled with her from her home a few hours away, left over and brought along from her last ten years at Arkadia Dance Academy. ADA was her second home. Arkadia itself was her first home. This, the dorm room in Kane Hall, was her new home. Clarke places the shoes on her bookshelf and immediately feels like she would have no home at all, soon enough.

_google search: are college students technically nomads?_

Clarke was lucky enough to have a room to herself, and even luckier that the girls sharing the ensuite bathroom with her seemed nice so far. They had propped their door to the washroom open, and moments after Clarke puts down her shoes and accepts that maybe feeling like home was a myth, a lean girl with her hair in a low ponytail bounces through onto Clarke’s side to say hello. Abby Griffin, struggling under the weight of a box labeled “DECOR AND SHIT” in Clarke’s shaky penmanship, nearly jumps out of her skin with shock.

“Hey, I’m Octavia!” The girl announced, gesturing to the taller girl who followed her through the door. Clarke noticed a brace strapped around the tall girl’s thigh and calf. “And this is Raven.”

“Hey,” Raven added, surveying the boxes in the room around her, her eyes resting on a throw pillow sticking out of the box Abby placed on the desk, a white one with the words _Leave Your Problems at the Bar(re)_ printed on it in stark blue lettering.

“Cute pillow. You dance?”

Clarke nods. “Yeah, since I was ten,” she says.

The girls’ faces light up, and Clarke thanks every lucky star that she’s been in Polis U for about twenty-six minutes and already has met two other dancers.

Clarke discovers within minutes that Raven danced as a kid, but had to drop it a few years ago due to complications after a torn ACL and was just given the green light to start again, and Octavia was a technically trained ballerina who’s “absolutely tragic” in just about every other style. Clarke admits her own training: she never danced competitively and she’s tried just about everything. She prefers tap and contemporary, and she’s always felt a little too white to even try hip hop.

“Have you seen Grounders in action?” Octavia asks. Clarke pulls her fitted sheets out of a box, and Octavia reaches over to help her spread them over the mattress cover. “Half the club is white girls shaking it to Beyonce. No judgement. You could totally try it.”

“Maybe next year,” Clarke admits. “I think I’ll just take a couple dances I know I'm good at this year. I’m biology/pre-med. It’s a lot of work.”

“I’m with you.” Raven places her hands on her hips, surveying the room. “Just a couple for me. Taking it easy.”

“I’ll end up biting off more than I can chew, I know it.” Octavia laughs. “But that’s okay. I can’t stay away from rehearsals. My brother’s a junior here and he’s in Grounders too, so I learned from the best on how to juggle everything.”

Clarke had read the Grounders website top to bottom at least six times before arriving at Polis. The team had a separate audition-only squad, but for everyone else who was interested, there were groups and classes from introductory to advanced. For just a small fee to cover the cost of the team’s needs, dancers could jam as many rehearsals as they wanted into their schedules. As tempting as it was to load herself senseless with dances, Clarke decided to take part in two groups. Maybe three. Just to test the waters.

Everything on the first day of college was about testing the waters. Her feet had just hit the earth in this place, and she had to figure out how to stand before she could dance. 

 

* * *

  

Clarke Griffin meets Lexa Woods for the first time when she hears Of Monsters and Men blaring out of a slightly-ajar door on her way upstairs from saying goodbye to her mother. As she breezes past open doors and the cacophony of getting settled, she hears a pitch-perfect voice singing along softly, blending themself perfectly into the music. She hesitates, but then knocks and enters a room as barren as hers, but with hardly any boxes remaining. The only decorations were a series of mismatched candles stacked on top of the bookshelf, and a few plaques at the back of her desk that Clarke couldn’t read from the doorway. There’s minimalist, and then there’s just plain sad. A girl hunches over the bed, focusing intently on something Clarke can’t quite see.

“ _King and Lionheart_ is my favourite,” Clarke says, unsure how to break the ice. The song continues to fill the dead space between them, the familiar words bringing comfort to the blonde. The girl bent over the bed turns around, startled, and then settles into a tight-lipped smile. She has dark hair, the top half braided into a loose half-up style, and thick, dark eye makeup that makes her green eyes stand out. Clarke can see now that she’s been sticking double-sided tape on a series of pictures that are spread out over her forest green duvet.

“Mine as well.” The girl crosses the room to meet Clarke in a handshake. “Alexandria Woods, but please, call me Lexa. Political science and Business.”

“Clarke Griffin. Normal science and none-of-your-business.” Lexa cracks a tight-lipped smile, and Clarke laughs. “Kidding. Pre-med.”

“Appears that we won’t be crossing paths much, then,” Lexa comments. “Opposite ends of campus and all.”

“You never know. Stranger things have happened.” The wry smile forms over Lexa’s face, delicate and serious, and Clarke feels a sense of home that she hadn’t felt since waving goodbye to her mother. “Besides, you’ll probably hear me stomping around and making noise even if you hardly see me in person, so it'll be like I'm always around. I’m in 329.” Clarke says.

“I’ll live for it.” Lexa smiles, closer to a real smile this time.

Clarke takes a moment to scan the room around her. A few notebooks sat in a neat stack on Lexa’s tidy desk, with a mug full of pens sitting next to a vintage alarm clock. There were no clothes or shoes scattered around, and if it weren’t for the pictures on the bed, every surface would already be organized. There's something about the emptiness that has Clarke wanting to say something else, a certain uneasiness that comes with a perfect appearance. 

"I don't want to kick you out of my room, but I'm going to have to." Lexa breaks the silence, looking at Clarke nervously, as if she expects disdain. "I've got a meeting later, and I need to finish getting settled." Clarke nods. She understands. Her own room looks like a freight train sped through it and she'd hardly lived there for an hour. If anything, Lexa's space was impressive in comparison.

"No worries." Clarke backs toward the door a little. "The first day of anything is always a busy one, I have something to get to a bit later too." Clarke wants to ask her what, wants to ask her why or who or where or when she can see her again, but Lexa simply nods. The dark-haired girl has already shut herself back off and Clarke feels as though she's definitely overstaying her welcome. 

But she gets it.

"Nice meeting you."

"It’s nice to meet you as well, Clarke." Lexa watches her leave, and the music muffles with the sound of a closing door behind her.

 

The first Grounders meeting is in North Hall that afternoon, and Clarke, Octavia, and Raven arrive more than fashionably early. (Mostly because Raven has zero sense of time, and urged the girls out twenty minutes before they needed to leave for the five-minute walk to North.) They take seats in the middle of the room and their conversation flows steadily. The roommate relationship is a strange one, especially at the beginning, and all three of them fit so easily into each other’s lives in just a few hours together that it’s hard not to crack jokes and tell their best anecdotes without having to fill in the backstory.

As the rest of the club starts to pour in, Clarke cranes her head around to take in the variously shaped dancers that fill the room around her. The club’s president, Indra (who Clarke had totally not Facebook-stalked at all after seeing her name on the website), took her position at the front of the room, her lean muscles revealing themselves as she stretched up to adjust the sound system on the wall. The rows around them filled up quickly, as Octavia’s older brother Bellamy, a hip hop dancer and one of the Grounders’ few male members, slid into the row in front of them with two other dancers at his side, who introduced themselves quickly as Nathan Miller and Gina Martin. In the midst of introductions, Clarke's eyes wandered through the room and focused in on familiar dark makeup. Lexa's face is stony again, stark as it was when Clarke first met the girl, and she didn't appear to be arriving with anyone she knew. So Clarke waves Lexa over, and the relief that washes over the dark-haired girl brings a smile to both of their faces.

“I didn’t know _this_ was your meeting,” Lexa says, taking the seat beside Clarke. She sets a dark green notebook with tree silhouettes covering it on the desk in front of her, poised to take notes. At a _dance meeting._ She tilts her head down shyly, as if she's planning out her words with perfect precision. “Are you going out for competitive?”

Clarke shook her head. “You?”

“Yes, but likely just the jazz line,” Lexa says. “I don’t have the time for that many competitive pieces.” She clasps her hands on the table in front of her. Clarke can’t help but follow the toned line of her arm up to her serious-looking face, and then breaks from her concentration as she realizes her roommates are staring at the inexplicable new member of the group.

“Oh, right,” Clarke says, her cheeks flushing. “This is Raven and Octavia, my kind-of-roommates. This is O’s brother Bellamy, and his friends Gina and Miller. And this,” Clarke turns to her roommates again and gestures to Lexa over her shoulder. “This is Lexa Woods. Good taste in music, lives three rooms down the hall from us and across it.”

“How long have you been dancing?” Raven asked.

“Since I was three. Well, almost three.” Lexa reaches up and adjusts the collar of her grey and black flannel. “I do a bit of everything. But I love contemporary. And anything involving tricks. Acrobatics are the best.”

“Contemporary’s one of Clarke’s favourites too,” Octavia commented. “I’m full classical ballet. Unlike my brother. I used to do more hip-hop and tap like Bell, but I switched to ballet when I was nine. Now that I have the chance, I want to try it all.”

“That’s what’s great about being a Grounder,” Bellamy commented. “Try it all, O.”

“Try it all? Says the guy who won’t take a contemporary class.” Octavia leans forward and snaps her fingers over the brim of Bellamy's snapback, sending it toppling onto the floor.

“I can’t even do a full split, Octavia, what makes you think I could handle anything but tap or hip-hop?” Bellamy reaches down for his hat, ignoring Gina who muffles a snort of laughter into the palm of her hand.

“Then I dare you to take contemporary with me this year.” Octavia folds her arms with a smirk.

“Can’t. I have a history seminar during it.”

"Ballet?"

"Lecture."

"You're lying."

"I'll pull my schedule out and prove it, O."

“Then next year.” Octavia settles back in her chair, hands behind her head and a smug grin on her face.

“Only if you take hip hop with me.” Octavia nods in agreement and the two shake on it, a secret handshake with extra claps and snaps to it. 

"Alright, Grounders!" Indra’s voice echoes through the room, the senior grinning as she shouts into the microphone. Her voice is serious and commanding, but there’s a hint of a smile in her words. Octavia and Bellamy stick their tongues out at each other and settle back into their seats. "Are we all ready to slay another year!" The room bursts into cheers and applause, and Clarke catches Lexa's eye as they shriek, flashing Lexa a bright smile. Lexa’s lips purse together, allowing a small, serious smile to break free once again.

Maybe home isn’t a place, but a sound, or a smile, or a group of people.

 

* * *

 

The first week of classes comes and goes, and the first week of dance rehearsals follows.

Clarke feels twice as much trepidation walking into her jazz rehearsal with Octavia and Raven than she does walking into Intro to Biology. But both classes work out just as well as she could have imagined. So much was changing all around her, and sometimes it feels like she's just racing to keep up. It's normal, she reminds herself a few times a day. Feeling lost is totally normal. 

Intro to Bio isn't too bad, and she meets a decently friendly upperclassman named Finn Collins who instantly starts trying to hit on her. She's met guys like Finn before, and she never felt like they were her type. Her high school boyfriend, Wells, was more of her type when it came to guys, but he broke things off in preparation for going away to college. Frankly, Clarke was ready for a break from guys altogether, so she didn't fall for Finn's attempts at charming her. But Finn was alright otherwise, his notes were tidy, and his comments about the lecturer were funny without being too distracting. He was a keeper.

Clarke's jazz group is being choreographed by a friendly junior named Echo who bounces happily when the girls nails a turn and has them warm up to the most peppy of bubblegum pop. Clarke laughs at one point when she oversteps a combo and Octavia giggles when Echo reminds her not to turn her feet out. Raven’s ponytail flies freely as she practices her turns down the floor and conquers the shakiness of her leg, and it makes Clarke feel a kind of joy and relief that she’d never felt at dance since she was a kid. There was something magical about leaving that first rehearsal with her girls at her side, and waving goodbye to Echo as they hurried to grab food from the dining hall. The feeling of sitting around one of the tables as a unit, eating pasta and discussing Echo's jazz funk style that was so different for all of them, brought Clarke back down to earth. 

But Clarke has to go to the advanced tap rehearsal alone, since Raven’s knee was tired enough after just two rehearsals and Octavia hasn’t had tap shoes on since she was dancing to _Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini_ as a five year old. (“I have photo and video evidence in case you ever need to blackmail her,” Bellamy reminds them one night as he’s leaving Octavia and Raven’s room.) Clarke ties on her taps and nervously sits on the floor of the studio with a few other dancers, waiting for rehearsal to start. If she'd had the blackmail from Bellamy now, it would help: anything to keep her mind off the impending smallness she feels in a room full of people who already call this place their home. 

It’s her home too, now, and she hasn’t forgotten that, but there’s still a sense of unfamiliarity. Figuring out where to anchor herself in a world that doesn’t feel like her own has been more difficult than she anticipated. She feels too over-eager coming at this alone, too new wearing her untouched Grounders Dance shirt to a rehearsal surrounded by worn-out ones with older logos, looking as much like a freshman as a person could. A reminder that this was not her home first. And the doubts swirl through her mind: what if she's not as good as she thought she was? And what if she can't keep up? 

“Clarke!” The familiar voice made the blonde smile as she turned to see Lexa walk through the doors of the studio. Lexa was also sporting her pristine Grounders Dance tee with a pair of tight spandex shorts, and Clarke smiled a sigh of relief.

“We match!” Clarke calls back in greeting. Lexa smiled tightly in agreement as she took a seat beside Clarke on the floor. “I didn’t think anyone else was going to be wearing the new design,” Clarke adds in a whisper as Lexa starts lacing up her shoes. She was already glistening with a slight glow, but still looked beautiful despite a little bit of sweat. No one should look that good after clearly running from another rehearsal.

“We all have to start somewhere. I was going to wear Anya’s, since she loaned it to me for good luck, but I have to start my own way. The new ones are a lot nicer, I think. I just came from ballet, with Octavia, but we were practicing down in the basement of North in that large open space so I had to run a little to get here.” Lexa smiled softly. “Have you seen her in action? Your roommate is really talented. I was in awe, those _legs_. She’s full power. She’ll be running a ballet group of her own by junior year.” Clarke’s thought process jerks to a halt at Lexa’s emphasis on Octavia’s legs. _Is this a dancer thing, or a gay thing_? 

Not to mention Clarke had been subtly eyeing Lexa's legs since she walked through the door.

“I knew she competed at YAGP last year, so I knew she was good, but she was a little awkward in jazz last night." Clarke lets the tips of her shoes rattle against the floor a little as she speaks. "The movements are so different for her, especially with Echo’s street style, but she picked it up fast.  She could definitely handle something more advanced, but it was nice of her to step down and join Raven and I. She’s flexible as fuck, though. Walked in on her stretching yesterday and nearly spat water on myself.”

“It’s why I wanted to be a well-rounded dancer when I was growing up,” Lexa replies, pushing herself into a centre split. “Taking more than just ballet, I mean. Th- I didn’t want to limit myself.” She shakes her head, pushing herself further into the split, long legs perfectly pointed on either side of her. Clarke has to physically drag her focus back up to Lexa’s face. “Plus, it’s fun doing a little bit of everything. But Octavia’s legs make her flexibility look even more impressive. It’s an advantage, definitely.” Lexa presses her lips back together and lowers her elbows to the floor, stretching her inner thighs. She presses herself fully onto her stomach into the stretch, and Clarke’s eyes scan up her bare, tanned legs.

 _Woah_.

"Okay, let's circle up!" Luna's voice and shoes announced her arrival as she hurries into the room with a binder and a wireless Bluetooth speaker in her arms. Everyone awkwardly scoots themselves backwards until they form a rough circle in the middle of the room. Clarke tries to shake off the blush creeping onto her cheeks, still in awe of Lexa’s legs. The only downside to being both bisexual _and_ a dancer was that regardless of what genders made up her classes, everyone had the potential to be hot and it was incredibly, _incredibly_ unfair.

Luna, the tap choreographer, was a pretty junior with tousled hair and beat-up tap shoes who sat hugging her knees to her chest as the group gathered around her. "I like rock, harder beats and rhythms, so we're doing _Seven Nation Army_ for the end of year showcase. A lot of us don't decide what songs we’re dancing to right away, but I think it's fun to know ahead of time what direction I’m taking the piece in." Clarke stole a look at Lexa, who watched Luna with rapt attention. Clarke notices the darkened makeup around her eyes is stronger today, and the gear-shaped necklace that peeks out of the collar of Lexa's shirt sparkles under the fluorescent studio lighting.

Luna calls for the group to introduce themselves, and Clarke becomes acquainted with the other dancers: she smiles at Gina as she frantically launches into the room late, with Bellamy at her heels. Both were juniors, both history majors. Both wearing the old style of the Grounders dance tee. And both of them, admittedly, were notoriously late. "This won't be a one-time thing," Bellamy warns, and Luna laughs in reply. "I've known you for two years, Blake, I know how you operate. Sit your asses down." The whole class laughs in reply, and Bellamy cards a hand through his hair as he sheepishly sits down.

“My name is Lexa,” the brunette next to her says when they reach her in the circle. “I’m a freshman, Political Science and Business double-major. I have been dancing since I was two and a half, and I do a little bit of everything, though I am partial to contemporary and anything involving tricks.”

Clarke pulls her knees to her chest. “I’m, uh, Clarke. Freshman, pre-med. And I’ve been dancing since I was ten, and I’ve always liked tap the best.”

“Alright, everyone up. It's been a long summer so let's get our bodies back to it!” The dancers spread out across the floor, some walking straight for the front, some sticking around in the back. Bellamy and Gina lean against the wall at the back, but then she notices Lexa standing in the front and centre of the room, stretching her ankles for the few moments before Luna blasts the music. Clarke always stood to the back of the room when she danced, whenever she had the choice. It was her place, the spot where she always felt the most comfortable. But maybe this wasn't about being comfortable. So Clarke steps forward, filling in the space beside Lexa, and doesn't look back.

 

* * *

 

“Wanna know what I saw in Loft today?” asks Octavia, bellowing loud enough to shake Clarke from her headphones and stand from her desk to join Raven on the other side of the washroom, emerging into their room. Clarke leans on the doorframe, greeting Raven with a slight nod. Raven's sprawled over her desk chair, engrossed in her textbook. Octavia’s leaning against the wall, hair in a high bun and wearing a Polis frosh week shirt and leggings, a half-chugged water bottle in her hand. Straight from dance.

“A TOENAIL. A fucking TOE-NAIL.”

“A whole toenail?” Clarke gasps.

“No, just a clipping. But still, disgusting.”

“In _public_?” Raven finally looks up from her physics textbook, horror painting her features.

They were a month into Grounders life, and by this point the group dances were finalized and showcase routines were already getting started. The girls had learned very quickly that, occasionally and unceremoniously, Grounders rehearsals would have their studio space yanked away from them for a teens CPR class or some other reason that was deemed more important to the college than their dance team. So they had to improvise. And improvising often meant kicking everyone out of a common area. In this case, it was a large empty space near one of the dining halls where people often brought their food when there was nowhere else to sit. And, apparently, a space where people clipped their toenails.

“Who the FUCK cuts their toenails in public?! We were stretching, right? And I lean forward into my centre split, stomach down, and then I just look forward and see a toenail.”

“Why are human beings the worst?” Clarke asks, folding her arms as she leaned into the doorframe.

“I don’t know. Move, Griffin. I need to wash the feeling of Loft off of my entire body.” Clarke steps into the room with Raven, letting Octavia into the washroom.

“How was contemporary, anyways?” Clarke shouts through the bathroom door.

“Great!” Octavia called back. The water starts, the sound of the spray nearly drowning out the girl’s always-loud voice. “We’re doing _Sky Full of Stars_ by Coldplay. We’re dancing with little lights in our hands. Should be really pretty. We started it tonight and Lexa, that girl that lives on our floor, she does this intro turning sequence that will blow your minds. She's _so_ good. It's mind-blowing.” Clarke raises an eyebrow, and suddenly Lexa’s legs are back in her mind on repeat.

“Lucky,” Raven comments from her desk. The physics textbook lays, abandoned, on the desktop now in favour of dance gossip. “We got John Mayer for our introductory group.” Beginner ballet was all Raven’s leg could handle with the extra strain jazz and general campus life was putting on it, but she was a surprisingly good sport about it. "His music is like the soundtrack to a Nicholas Sparks movie. Or a really sappy breakup.”

“Kind of the same thing, right?” Clarke smirks. “Tap got The White Stripes. _Seven Nation Army_. And my lyrical group is doing Ed Sheeran.”

“Ugh, lucky.” Raven stretches out her leg, fiddling with one of the fasteners on her brace. “I would give my left leg to have something like Sheeran.”

“You probably shouldn’t,” Clarke says. “It’s almost healed. Don’t get rid of it when you’re so close.”

Raven laughs. “Touché.” She frowns, grabbing her thigh with both hands and placing her leg back under her desk, swivelling as she rotated her desk chair. “I just… God, this sucks. I miss doing the big stuff. I see O practicing her pointe and it just kills me. I haven't done something like a solid trick, or whatever, in years. I miss that part of it so much.”

Clarke nods. “I get it. I have tap with Lexa, and I know how good she is in there, so I can imagine her strongest styles are even better. She’s front and centre in all of our formations in that group too. It sucks seeing other people killing it, especially when it's just out of reach. I'm happy for them, they've earned it, but it'd be nice to be in the same spot, you know?” Raven nods in agreement.

It’s different for Clarke, different for someone who wasn’t held back by her body, but by her mind. The image of Clarke’s dance teacher, Diana, holding out an info booklet for the team, the memory of bringing it home, handing it to Abby who shook her head. Too much of a time commitment and too much extra money, not when she was entering high school and prepping for a career in pre-med at a good university. Not when her dad had just passed away and Abby was handling being a single parent.

Some things just aren’t in the cards.

But Clarke had always had a feeling that if she’d been a better dancer, her teacher would’ve fought harder for her.

“Clarke?” Raven asks, tilting her head toward her suitemate. “You okay?”

“Yeah, sorry.” Clarke stutters a little, awkwardly moving toward the door and shaking herself out of her daydream. She doesn’t have her keys, so she’s trapped until Octavia gets out of the shower. She changes the subject, asks Raven about her coursework, but even as Raven enthusiastically outlines everything she's been working on, the thrum of _not enough, not enough, not enough_ beats through her head in time with her pulse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAGP: Youth American Grand Prix/big ballet dance competition
> 
> Dance paws look like this: http://static0.dancewear365.com/shoes/lyrical/dance-paws-original-dp/dance-paws-original.jpg?sw=600&sh=450
> 
> This fic has been building in my head for a while and I'm super nervous/excited to have it officially off the ground. Updates will probably be slow, but hopefully not too slow, I'll do my best! Shoutout to my beta Kay for helping me out with the writing/making sure the dance mechanics make sense/fielding a lot of "is this normal or did I go to a weird dance studio/was my own dance team weird?" questions.


	2. locked out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which clarke's locked out, things get creepy, and finn sees raven in her sports bra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for all the positivity surrounding chapter one! hope you enjoy chapter two!

_october_ , _freshman year._

The first true sign of fall hits the campus when Octavia shows up with three pumpkin spice lattes, dropping one on Clarke’s desk before running out the door to her ballet rehearsal. Clarke shouts a thank you out the door after her and sips at the too-sweet drink while working on biology and fielding texts from Finn, who claims not to know what’s going on in the coursework. He’d been in the same lectures as she had for the last month and a half, so Clarke suspected he just wanted to chat. It’s not that she minds helping him: he’s cute, decent to talk to. But at the same time, she couldn’t wait to ditch the homework and the academic babysitting and get over to the studio to meet up with Lexa.

Their friendship has been growing, slowly and steadily. Clarke never saw her in the dining hall and she never left her door open, so she rarely saw her outside of their tap rehearsal. But those moments in Luna’s rehearsals were becoming the highlight of her week. It wasn’t because of her great legs, even though that definitely complicated things in Clarke’s mind. It was getting to know the tiny intricacies and layers that made Lexa such an enigma to her. She didn’t want to say she had a crush on her, this wasn’t second grade, but there was something in the way that Lexa held herself that Clarke admired.

Clarke was itching to get to know her, _really_ know her, but she always seemed to slip away without another thought as soon as Luna dismissed the group from rehearsal. Even the end of tap classes, when Clarke retired to Kane Hall and hoped that Lexa would follow along, Lexa always had somewhere else to go and disappeared alone into the night. And Clarke didn’t know how to spend more time with her without feeling _strange_ and _clingy_ , especially when she spent her tap rehearsals watching Lexa dancing from her spot in the back corner.

Her phone buzzes and knocks her out of her daydream.

**finn:**

_what were the questions again for tomorrow_

**cute bio girl** :

_page 60, numbers 1-5_

_and don’t forget the lab report!!_

**finn:**

_shit the lab report_

_ur a lifesaver_

_thanks princess_

 

Clarke suppresses an eye roll, knocks the image of Finn’s floppy hair and warm eyes out of her mind, and focuses back on her own work and her own latte. Something about filling in each category and reciting off the pieces and parts that were bound to her memory is calming and allows her to focus on studying. Coursework grounds her, keeps her feet on the ground when her daydreams threaten to take over. After twenty minutes, Clarke stands up abruptly, grabs her faded purple tote bag from the hook by the door, checks it twice for her tap shoes, and hurries out the door, letting it slam and lock behind her.

The studio is just a quick walk away from Kane, and Clarke relishes in the cool fall breeze rustling the ends of the open flannel she wears over a faded blue t-shirt. Her phone buzzes again: Finn, probably, but she lets it rest in her pocket and absorbs herself in the music on her phone. She’s made a playlist with all of her songs she’s dancing to this year, and Ed Sheeran’s voice fills her ears as she strolls over the lawn outside the athletic building.

By the time she arrives at the studio, Clarke has run over all of her dances in her head along with the music and her head is full of movement and sound, overwhelming and relaxing all at once. Lexa’s already there, Clarke can see her through the window, wearing a tight black tank top that reveals tattoos wrapping her bicep. Her legs extend at either side of her in a perfect split, and the arch of her back as she stretches makes her want to run back to Kane and grab her sketchbook.

Clarke slips her flannel off her shoulders and ties it around her waist as she approaches Lexa. The brunette smiles in greeting as Clarke sits on the floor beside her. “You’re never here this early,” Clarke comments, leaning into a stretch on her right leg.

“Got out of ballet early,” Lexa replies. “A lot of people have midterms this week so Indra gave them a break. It helped that she _also_ had a midterm tomorrow, but I will take what I can get.”

“How’s it going?” Clarke leans over her left leg, grabbing her foot in both hands and pulling her torso to line up almost-flat on top of her leg. “Ballet, I mean.”

“It’s going well,” Lexa replies, pushing herself up into a centre split and stretching her back a little. “We’re pretty far along, though I think _this_ dance will be done sooner. Luna’s the most efficient choreographer I’ve ever worked with. Indra’s great as well, of course, but she’s in charge of the entire team which takes up a lot of her time and concentration. It results in her making our dance up on the spot.” Clarke nods in agreement, looking up to cast a smile to Bellamy, who flops on the floor next to her.

“Ladies,” he says in greeting, and Lexa and Clarke both smile in response.

“I don’t see you stretching,” Lexa quips back, and Bellamy groans.

“God, you sound just like my sister. Now I'm just happy I had class during your ballet rehearsals, or else Octavia wouldn't let me hear the end of it.” Bellamy reaches forward to _almost_ touch his toes. “Good enough?”

“I’ll take it,” Lexa says with a small smile. “Next week, let's see if you can _actually_ touch them.”

Luna strolls through the door to interrupt the playful banter and throws her taps on the floor, the sharp sound of metal hitting the smooth floors making everyone in the room jump in surprise. “Okay, everybody up!” She exclaims, placing an old iPod classic on the table. “Let’s get this show on the road!”

* * *

Sweaty and exhausted, Clarke and Lexa are the last to leave the studio at the end of rehearsal, trailing out behind the rest of the group. “Are you headed back to Kane?” Lexa asks. Clarke nods. It's hard to suppress a laugh at Lexa's casual tone, as if Clarke herself hadn't been hoping to have just one night where she got to see a little further into the mystery of Lexa every week since the rehearsals had started. Her heart echoes in her chest, beating quickly with the promise of more time. “So am I. I usually meet with a study group, but they cancelled for tonight.”

“It’ll be nice to have some company.” Clarke unties the flannel from her waist and pulls it back over her, buttoning it up as the two walk out into the chilly fall evening.

“The routine is looking quite good,” Lexa says as the two cross the lawn, short-cutting their way toward Kane. “I like that new section tonight, with everyone travelling across the room with each other.”

“Once we got the collisions out of the way,” Clarke laughs. Most of their hour-long rehearsal had been spent making sure that, while they kept their beats steady on a transition step, nobody crashed into one another as everyone moved throughout the stage. It was a complicated pattern, all the dancers swirling about one another as a few dancers, Lexa included, took turns doing a leg extension or other trick while the group moved around them. There were too many instances to name where two people tried to follow the same path and rammed directly into one another, causing a domino effect across the room. “We only had a few minor disasters.”

“You and Bellamy had a great collison back there.” Lexa smirks a little as they turn onto the dimly lit sidewalk. On their third time through the new section, Clarke and Bellamy had both decided that they could squeeze through the gap between Lexa and Emori, and in the process smacked into one another and sent both of them toppling to the floor. 

“Bellamy thought he was faster than he is.” Clarke shakes her head as she remembers the collision, which she and Bellamy promptly blamed the other for. Lexa had been there, at her side, helping her up with one hand, and Clarke had stared at the tattoos decorating her skin until she hardly remembered why she was in the studio in the first place. “Luckily, it’s only October. There’s tons of time for disasters.”

“I hope that the disasters iron themselves out quickly.” Lexa’s face hardens back into her cautious, guarded expression, no traces of laughter left. “It is October, but we have much more work to get done before we can call the dance a success.”

“We’ll get there,” Clarke encourages, even though she’s not so sure herself. She had caught herself struggling during rehearsal, and though she kept up, she wasn’t sure what Luna was going to throw at them next. “By April we’re going to look fantastic.”

“You’re quite the optimist, Clarke.” Lexa turns to raise a brow at her.

“Well, I had one group dance disaster during my childhood, so I know what the warning signs are for a potential nightmare.” Clarke shrugs. “And we don’t have any of them."

“What happened?” Lexa asks.

“This tap group when I was in seventh grade, they just lacked any sign of a work ethic whatsoever. So everyone was skipping classes, and not remembering any of the choreo.” Clarke sighs at the memory. “To top it off, our teacher, Pike, was this flaky guy who never really paid attention. He didn’t even attend the recital and at the dress rehearsal, our class had a huge fight onstage over what the _real_ dance was.”

“That sounds like quite the disaster.” Lexa’s lips press together in a masked smile.

“It was. Perks of non-competitive classes.”

“I’m sure they all weren’t that bad.”

“They weren’t,” Clarke says. “You never had to deal with anything like that?”

“If we had pulled anything like that, we would’ve been all but beheaded.” Lexa’s smile disappears from her face once again, and Clarke can feel any scrap of joy deflating from her. The two cross the lawn into Kane, and climb the stairs, complete and total silence wrapping around them both. Clarke’s heart grows heavier with every step.

“What do you think we’ll end up wearing for costumes for tap?” Clarke asks finally, desperate to fill the lingering silence between them.

“Luna will choose something in due time. Whatever she goes with will be the best choice.” 

“Yeah, but if you could choose _anything_ , what would it be?” Clarke prods, feeling her cheeks grow red. _Is this as childish as Lexa’s acting like it is?_ “Use your imagination.”

Lexa sighs. “I guess all black would look good. With accents. Red ones. Maybe a lot of body in the costume so it moves when we do.” Lexa’s face lights up, eyes beginning to glow, and Clarke has to fight back the smile that threatens to take over her cheeks. Clarke grabs the door onto their floor for her and Lexa smiles back in a polite show of gratitude.

“I’d love that. Maybe with our hair down, the girls of course, so it moves along with us?"

"But pinned back, maybe just a bit at the front, so it's not in the way."

"Didn’t you ever daydream about your costumes for weeks before they got in?” Clarke asks. Lexa shakes her head silently in response. Clarke’s heart drops a little: she couldn’t imagine her years of dance without the tension and nerves when those little white garment bags showed up on Diana’s arm, waiting not-so-patiently until everyone arrived to peek in and see them for the first time. The feathers, or tulle, or plain satiny fabric always somehow surprised her even though she’d seen the photos of the costumes in the catalogues.

Like Christmas in June.

Clarke reaches into her bag for her keys, rummaging into each pocket. She retraces her steps: she got up from her work, she checked her bag for her shoes, she threw out her latte cup, she... “Shit, _fuck_ I left them in my room. I’m locked out.” She walks three more steps down the hall and pounds on Raven and Octavia’s door. “O? Rae?” Lexa leans against the wall, watching with wry amusement. Clarke pulls out her phone and impatiently types out a text message.

**griffster, to _grounder roomie babes_ : **

CAN ONE OF YOU OPEN THIS DAMN DOOR

“Octavia’s still out, or Raven’s wearing noise-cancelling headphones. Or some combination of the two. Either way, I'm screwed.” Clarke looks at Lexa, weighs her options, and sighs. Her curiosity and courage have gotten the best of her. “Can I come hang out with you until they’re home? I really don’t want to crash in the common room.”

Lexa purses her lips, and just when Clarke thinks she’ll say no, she nods.

“Thanks, I owe you one.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Lexa says softly, and leads them to her door.

As they enter, Clarke immediately notices a lot more decoration than had been in the room on their first night in Kane Hall. On the walls are mounted plaques in bright colours, from years and years of dance competitions. Clarke leans in to examine one that reads  _SENIOR ELITE ALLSTAR: ALEXANDRIA WOODS_ in shining gold letters. The plaque was a blinding shade of hot pink plastic, with bright turquoise illustrations of a dancer doing a leap across the frame sprinkled with copious amounts of jewels and sparkles. There was an extra attachment on the bottom, a plain piece of cardstock that read " _Age Sixteen, The Fight, Double Platinum, Top Solo"_ denoting Lexa’s age and scores . “These weren’t here last time I was here."

“No, my parents sent them down from home a couple weeks ago.” Lexa places her bag on a hook near her door and puts her tap shoes in their place on her shelf. She doesn’t meet Clarke’s eyes, busying herself with tidying the minimal amount of clutter her bag makes in the pristine dorm room. “I did not know how much space I had to decorate before I moved in. It was very important to them that I had them here.”

“I guess all of this explains why you always go so hard in rehearsal,” Clarke says, gesturing to the wall of titles and perfect scores that blind her with the cacophony of overwhelming colours. The hot pinks and bright purples and bedazzled awards are the polar opposite of the serious, reserved girl in front of her, the awards screaming for attention and drowning out Lexa's silence. Lexa presses her lips together before letting out a tight smile.

“I suppose it does.”

And that is that.

Lexa crosses the room, sits on her bed with her legs folded beneath her, and watches Clarke as she takes in the rest of the plaques. The competitions were spread all over the country, but every plaque denoted near-perfect scores, top awards, and national championship titles. A framed photo of a younger Lexa, wearing full stage makeup and a tight blue costume, is framed among them. Clarke looks at the awards piling out of Lexa’s arms and the tiara on her head in the photo and feels that pang of jealousy hit her again. It had to feel incredible, to hold this kind of weight in the dance world. She knew Lexa was good, but she didn’t know she was _best in show_ good. Clarke feels her gaze, steady and unrelenting, and she turns away from the screaming orange  _Teen Miss Dance Explosion_ award and sits down in Lexa’s desk chair.

“Sorry for staring,” Clarke says. “But I always wanted to do this.”

“Compete?”

“Yeah.” Her cheeks glow red and she ducks her head a little.

“It’s a lot less glamorous than it looks, trust me,” Lexa says, and Clarke lifts her head to meet Lexa’s eyes again. There’s a distance to her, as she finally looks the plaques in the eye. “The titles are fine, but it’s a lot of gruesome work in the studio to make it happen. I think I might prefer Grounders to the studio I attended. It’s a lot less pressure. And it is difficult to get used to.”

“But you’re competing here, too, right?”

“Yes, but competing as part of a line or a large group is very different than competing on your own. It is a different feeling altogether. Less pressure. More solidarity.” The brunette shrugs. “I haven’t done something like this in a long time. It’s all quite new to me.”

“A lot of this is still new to me,” Clarke muses, gesturing to the world outside Lexa’s dorm window. “I still feel like I’m trying to figure out where I fit into it all.”

“It’s college, Clarke, I’m sure you are not the only one who is feeling this way.” Lexa shrugs. “We just survive, we get through each day, and eventually it will have to feel regular.”

But there’s a difference, Clarke thinks, between feeling regular and feeling at home. It’s a feeling she’s only just starting to understand. “Maybe it’d just be nice to feel like I’m not just surviving here.” Lexa nods, and the silence that fills the room is choking and smothering and _too much_ for both the girls to bear.

“What dances are you even in this year?” Clarke asks, a desperate attempt to change the subject. Lexa sighs with relief. It works.

“Jazz line, tap with you, contemporary and ballet both with Octavia… and the advanced jazz regular group, too.” Lexa shrugs her shoulders, and even that movement is so calculated and deliberate. “I suppose I should not have taken that many so quickly, with all the work that my degree requires, but I think I would go stir-crazy without them. And you’re in-”

“Our tap, a jazz and a lyrical, but not as advanced. I didn’t know what the top level would be like.”

“You could handle it, I think."

Clarke raises a brow, eyes glued to the group chat on her phone. “You really think so?”

“Indeed I do." Lexa leans back on her hands, taking in Clarke's concentrated gaze. "Try it next year, if you're able. I think you could easily take the higher difficulty groups on. You’re quite good. I haven't seen you do anything outside of tap, but it's easy to sense determination. You have it.”

Clarke is taken aback, and finally looks up from the half-composed text to meet Lexa’s gaze. “Thank you.” Her finger presses send before she can correct the typo.

**griffster, to _grounder roomie babes_ :**

OPEN THE DUCKING DOOR

FUCKING

“Your roommates haven’t surfaced yet, I gather?” Lexa asks, one brow raised.

“Nope. I’m sure I won’t be locked out for too long, though.” Clarke shrugs, locking her phone again. “Raven has a terrible habit of falling asleep watching educational YouTube videos or Real Housewives marathons with her huge, obnoxious noise-cancelling headphones on. When she does, she's useless to try and talk to. But I'm lucky: her and Octavia are really great to live with. What are your roommates like? The ones who share the washroom?”

“They’re alright,” Lexa says. “They are _very_ loud. Especially in the middle of the night. And they’re always coming back too drunk to function, so I have to leave my door to the washroom locked all the time. We are definitely not on… Group Chat status with one another.” She frowns, running a finger down the seam of her leggings. “They do not like me much. I was practicing in here one day and they had the _audacity_ to yell at me through the door for tapping. As if they do not scream their obscene rap lyrics at two o'clock in the morning.”

“How dare they!” Clarke smiles. “At least mine have the decency to knock and use my name before cursing me out for tapping. It’s a hard knock life.”

Lexa cracks up, a laugh louder than Clarke’s ever heard. “You’re shouted at for being noisy, you are not an orphan in New York City.” Clarke laughs too, and any tension left between them shatters.

“It’s not my fault I picked up the loudest dance style there is and decided it was my favourite. You’d think from their reactions that I was the newest dancer in _Stomp_ or _Blue Man Group_.”

“Remind me not to let you around any trash can lids.” Lexa relaxes, lying on her back on the bed. “Otherwise you'll get yourself evicted.”

“I’ll do my best.” Clarke’s phone buzzes, jolting them both out of conversation.

 **ray reyes** :

_i may have been asleep_

_i also may have been watching netflix_

“It’s Raven. She was napping with her _stupid_ noise-canceling headphones, just like I thought. I should probably head back so I can shower.” Clarke stands, and Lexa draws herself up to join her. “Hey, thanks for letting me crash here, even if it was just for a little while.” Clarke says, turning to Lexa. “You’re more fun than a common room with questionable couches.” Lexa smiles in response, and it’s one of those rare, real smiles that Clarke hardly sees from her.

“Next time your suitemates abandon you, you know where I am.” Her voice is a little soft, completely unsure, and Clarke smiles regardless. There’s hope in Lexa, a little glimmer of hope that Clarke will come back for a reason other than the plaques on the walls.

“Maybe we should exchange numbers. Just in case. It might be a recurring problem.” Clarke holds her phone out to Lexa, waiting. Lexa smiles and takes it from her hands.

“Maybe we should.” Lexa keys in the number and hands the phone back to Clarke, who promptly sends a message to get her number to Lexa.

 **Clarke** :

_guess who_

_;)_

Clarke notices Lexa has put herself into Clarke’s phone as Alexandria, probably out of habit. But as she thinks about changing it back to Lexa, she pauses. An idea. “See you around,” Clarke says, and Lexa nods, already retrieving her phone to tidy up the notification. Clarke lets herself out of Lexa's dorm, walks the few steps down the hall, and lets herself into Raven’s room, the door unlocked as she had hoped. Raven herself is sheepishly standing near the door, her hair tousled and eye makeup clouding underneath her eyes. Her noise-cancelling headphones laid on the bed, connected to her laptop.

“New roommate rule,” Clarke says as she walks through the washroom to her side of the dorm. “No noise-cancelling headphones when people aren’t home.”

“How about this rule?” Raven mumbles, following Clarke through and leaning against the doorframe. “Clarke Griffin, human disaster, remembers her keys when she leaves the room.”

“There could’ve been a fire, and then you would’ve been Raven Reyes, human matchstick.” Clarke throws her dance bag down and immediately flings her laptop open, navigating to YouTube.

“Point taken.” Raven quirks one brow, watching Clarke’s frantic search. “Well, you’re on normal YouTube, _and_ you’re logged in, so you’re _probably_ not desperately searching for porn. What’s the rush?” She slowly moves her way over to Clarke’s desk and leans against it, letting her leg rest. Clarke types _alexandria woods_ into the search bar and hits the enter key, finally looking up at Raven. Search results fill the screen.

“So I was hanging out with Lexa, that girl that you met at the first meeting, the one who does all the turns that Octavia keeps talking about?” Raven nods. “She had dance awards all over her room. She's won _national_ _titles_. I had a feeling her dances would probably show up.”

“So you’re going to be a creep.” Raven nods, approvingly. “It’s like Dance Moms, but even weirder because you _know_ this version of Maddie Ziegler. I can tell we’re going to be in this for the long haul.” Raven grabs the laptop and sits it on Clarke’s bed, gesturing for Clarke to hop up. She drags the desk chair over, using it to climb up.

“Bad night for the leg?”

“Pushed myself too hard in ballet rehearsal last night,” Raven admits. She brushes the thought away with her hand. “It’s nothing, I swear. Let’s start being creeps.” Raven scrolls down the page, looking at all of the dances on the page. “Shit, look at all of these. These are _all_ her?”

“Pick one,” Clark challenges, leaning her head against Raven’s shoulder. Raven selects one titled FORCE, and lets it load with the questionable campus wifi. “This must be her solo from this past year, her last one.” Clarke points to the date the video was posted.

“Says this scored a platinum. And she was first place overall,” Raven notes as the solo clicks in. Lexa fades in onstage, wearing a dramatic black costume. She’s in full stage makeup, her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. As the music starts, she melts, her body moving slowly and smoothly before the instrumental track brings in a heavy drum beat and she does a turn, her leg perfectly pointed in the air, and drops to the ground.

“Woah!” Clarke and Raven both jump back at the same time, eyes wide open and fixed on Lexa’s sharp movements. She does flips, high kicks, perfectly timed poses, and drops from a jump right into a perfect split. She steps into a preparatory movement, arms extended, and then does four aerial cartwheels in a row, crossing the stage like it’s absolutely nothing.

“What the fuck!” Raven whispers. “Is she even human?”

Clarke’s eyes are glued to the screen, to Lexa’s determined face and perfect lines. Her musicality is spot on, her movements dramatic and timed beautifully. Clarke understands now, more than ever, why Lexa's wall was covered in those plaques and over-the-top titles. But there was something in Lexa’s eyes in the video, something dead and forced that comes over her. Maybe it's her character for the dance, but there isn't any light behind her gaze each time she looks into the audience. It was as if someone was just offstage, making sure every movement was perfect.

Lexa’s dance finishes, her body curling into the ground as she performs a backwards roll into a kneeling position. She faces sideways, and as the music fades, she turned and looks directly into the audience, still stone-faced.

Chills run down Clarke’s spine.

Clarke and Raven make their way down the list, and even though the choreography and Lexa’s dancing is incredible every time, there is one little thing Clarke notices. Whether it's a group routine of mini dancers with Lexa front and centre, or a lyrical solo, or a duet, Lexa’s expression dropped the second her dance ended. Before the lights went down, as she made her way offstage, any light or smiles in her features were gone completely. It unsettles Clarke in a strange way. When Clarke combined that with the comments exploding with dancer fan accounts raving about her performances, the whole experience became largely unsettling.

There is something in Lexa that she still did not know.

“Hey!” Octavia’s voice echoes through the rooms when they were about five videos deep into Lexa’s Dance History. “Where are you?”

“We’re in Clarke’s bed! Being creepy!” Raven calls back.

Octavia appears in the doorway, her hair pulled back into a ponytail. “I’m relieved to see this isn’t as weird as I’d thought when I heard ‘being creepy in Clarke’s bed.’” Octavia hops up onto the bed and squishes up against Clarke, peeking over her shoulder. “What are we watching?”

“We’re marathoning videos of Lexa. Ballet Lexa.”

“Oh, shit, you’re right. That _is_ creepy.”

“Not like that," Clarke defends herself. "I was hanging out with her because _someone_ was asleep and I couldn't get in, and we were talking about how she used to compete so I _had_ to do the research, and now Raven and I are dangerously close to the rabbit hole that is good dance competition videos.” Clarke presses pause, leaving a fifteen year-old Lexa frozen onscreen with her toe perfectly pointed. “She’s damn good.”

“Yeah, but look.” Octavia leans over and presses play on another video of a different dancer. “Have you ever seen this girl? Her legs are, like, inhuman. Wait for it, wait for it…” The girls watch with baited breath as the dancer extends her leg straight into the air, and then bends it into a perfect arch when the music hits a heavy drum beat. All three of them shriek with excitement, and burst into laughter. That dance leads to another. And another. And another.

They fall asleep like that, snuggled together on Clarke’s bed, and she can’t help but think the next morning that even despite the pinch in her neck and the discomfort of their bodies piled together, she couldn’t be happier with the dorks she shared her life with.

 

_november, freshman year._

After Clarke and Lexa exchange numbers, there's something about their relationship that Clarke finds easier. As if a channel had opened between them, breaking the ice, Lexa acts more open to Clarke every tap rehearsal. The only problem: Finn was  _also_ warming up to Clarke. The closer to finals they got, the more needy Finn became in their bio lectures and study sessions. Which included his constant requesting of Clarke’s notes when they kept _accidentally_ getting deleted.

“Honestly, invest in a good flash drive.” Clarke pulls the door open to Kane Hall, stepping through and holding it back for Finn. “Or a program that at least auto-saves. How do you even accidentally delete your notes?”

“Princess, it is midterms. I’m surprised I’m even able to function. I don't think I'd remember how to use a flash drive right about now.” Finn pushes his floppy brown hair under a blue beanie and rubs a hand over his forehead. “These bio labs are killing me.”

“Same.” The material isn't difficult for Clarke: it was merely just _so much work_ on top of the other coursework. Not to mention she lost a few hours a week that could be used for her labs or studying to Grounders rehearsals. Maybe she shouldn’t have built her schedule up so much around dance, but it was worth it for every time she laughed in a jazz rehearsal or watched Lexa’s determined eyes as she slammed her taps against the floor.  
  
Ever since that night of watching Lexa’s videos, Clarke felt somehow closer to her in the strange relationship that results when someone watches too many vlogs of a YouTuber and feels like they know them personally. She couldn’t unsee the flat line of Lexa’s gaze at the end of her dances, even a month later, and Lexa’s own regimented study schedule meant that they’d shared very few conversations and even fewer awkward text conversations. They had an easy, low-maintenance friendship that picked up where it left off each week, but it hadn’t made it past that much at all, despite the few things that they were learning about one another. Lexa didn’t seem to have any issues with getting her work done, which inspired Clarke to work as hard as she could.

But then there was Finn, who she was shocked even had his head on straight. He partied more than Clarke did, but he was smart, if not a little terrible with time management. Clarke always had a hard time helping out the people who were clearly not putting any effort in and just aiming to leech off of her tidy note-taking. But two months at Arkadia had her knowing Finn well enough. He’s a good guy with a poor work ethic. She hadn’t minded helping him at all, which is why she’s leading him down the hallway toward their dorm.

“I always forget how tiny Kane is,” Finn says. “I lived here when I was a freshman. The halls are claustrophobic.”

“It’s not the worst.” Clarke reaches around in her bag for her key. “At least I like the girls who I share the washroom with, so it feels like a bigger space when we all share both rooms.” Finn nods.

“Yeah, I shared mine with a couple assholes. They never shut up.” Clarke laughs, nodding in understanding.

“A friend of mine has the same problem.” She pushes the door open, stepping into the darkened, vacant room. But the room isn’t quite empty. Raven’s standing in the middle, hands on her hips, clearly looking for something.

And all she’s wearing are a sports bra and a pair of leggings.

“Raven!” Clarke exclaims. Raven turns around, takes in Clarke and Finn, and barely jumps. She flips her ponytail over one shoulder.

“Shit, Griffin!” Raven gestures toward Clarke’s cluttered desk. “I left my notebook in here when I was talking to you earlier. I was just coming back for it but I didn’t want to mess up all your stuff.”

“Let me see…” Clarke walks over to the desk, scanning it for a notebook that wasn’t hers. She turns back to the door, watching Finn’s eyes growing to the size of dinner plates at the sight of Raven. “Finn, can you…” Raven holds up a hand in reply, quieting Clarke.

“It’s fine, Griffin. I do the laundry like this, I can entertain your friends, too.” Raven turns to Finn, smiling brightly. “How have I never met you before?”

“Clarke and I don’t study here often,” he says. “I'm Finn Collins, Clarke and I are in biology together. I just came back to get her notes from class last week. Although…” his eyes scan her body, eyes taking in the bronzed skin and defined abs. “I _wish_ I’d been around here more often.”

“I’m Raven, Raven Reyes. And I'm normally more dressed than this, but I was just practicing my jazz dance for Grounders and trying to get some yoga in.” Finn nods approvingly.

“You’re on that dance team with Clarke?” he asks, a smile dominating his features. “Maybe I’ll have to come to that show in the spring. If I give you my number, you can let me know the dates?” Clarke’s back is still turned as she pulls Raven’s notebook out of a drawer and rummages around for the notes, and she suppresses a roll of her eyes. There's nothing less comfortable than having two people blatantly hitting on each other right in front of you.

When Clarke turns around to pass Raven her notebook, she's taking her phone back from Finn, his number freshly keyed into the empty contact page. Clarke simultaneously passes Finn the handwritten notes from last week’s bio lab and passes Raven her notebook. “If you two lovebirds are finished…”

Finn laughs, taking the notes with a grateful nod. “I owe you big time, Princess.” He winks at Raven, letting himself out of the dorm with a wave to them both. As soon as he leaves, Raven turns to Clarke, her eyes huge. She’s the very picture of smitten, and Clarke can’t help but smile at her enthusiasm.

“Okay, _please_ tell me he’s as nice as he seems?”

“He’s a good guy. We help each other out in bio a lot, and he’s got a good sense of humour. I think you’ll really like him.”

“It’s about time I found a good guy,” Raven says, and there’s a sense of hope in her eyes that Clarke can’t miss. Something pulls at her heartstrings, the look in Raven’s eyes melting away any hesitation she’d had about the way her and Finn had met. Finn was sweet, if not a little on the vacant side, and there was a brain buried under that easily distracted exterior. Finn Collins wasn’t a bad guy. He was a good enough guy to earn Clarke’s friendship, and it touched Clarke’s heart that Raven took her word for it.  
  
“I think you might be really good together, Rae,” Clarke says. Raven lights up in a smile when her phone buzzes in the palm of her hand, and her eyes focus in on the screen, the fireworks in her eyes loud and clear to Clarke. Stepping around the standstill Raven, Clarke pulls her chair out at her desk and settles in to organize that day’s notes, her own inactive phone sitting hopefully at her side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so throughout this fic I'll probably drop a few dance solos in the notes that I used for inspiration because some of these dancers are ridiculously talented, so here's the solo i based Lexa's in the video off of: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ChBrD_kZLA8 
> 
> i'm on tumblr too so come throw your weird dance stories at me (because dance stories are the best) or just hang out: http://clxrkegriffin.tumblr.com


	3. secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which christmas happens, lexa wears exuberant amounts of blush, and clarke learns a secret

_december, freshman year._

**clarkey, to grounder roomie babes:**

99% SURE I’M GONNA PASS BIO

100% SURE I DON’T CARE ANYMORE

 **O** :

AAAAAAAAAYYYY

GET IT BITCH

**ray reyes:**

QUEEN OF BIO

 

 _Somehow_ , Clarke makes it through finals. Somehow she also makes it through the rest of the semester, a blur of lab reports and exams and occasionally texting Lexa to ask inane, emoji-riddled questions about their tap rehearsals. Dance has been over for two weeks, so the last time Clarke saw Lexa was at their last rehearsal before the new year, where she wore dark red leggings and a high-necked black tank top that she still hasn’t stopped thinking about.

Clarke Griffin _might_ have a crush on Lexa Woods.

(She knew it from day one, but knowing something and _admitting_ something are completely different moments.)

But now the semester is over, and everything is cleaned and put away and packed up in her beat-up blue suitcase. It’s a halfway line directly through her freshman year, and the familiarity has finally set in. The routine she’s fallen into: class, study, dance, goof off with Raven and Octavia, sometimes see Lexa: it works for her, it makes sense.

Abby is going to pick her up for winter break, and hopefully it all still makes sense when she gets back.

 

**momma griffin:**

_I’m waiting downstairs! Can’t wait to see you, honey._

 

Clarke heaves her stuffed backpack onto her shoulder and pulls the suitcase behind her out the door. The lock clicks behind her and subconsciously Clarke touches the keys tucked firmly into her pocket.

“Clarke?”

Clarke whips her head around to see Lexa standing there, just outside her own door, clutching her own small suitcase. She's wearing a black buttoned-up coat, her hair is braided neatly away from her face and her eyes have dark circles underneath them. The evidence of finals week is apparent on her face, and Clarke is quite sure she looks just as exhausted.

“Hey!” Clarke smiles, waiting for Lexa to reach Clarke’s door before walking, keeping pace with the taller girl. “I haven’t seen you since rehearsal. How did finals treat you?”

Lexa shrugs a little. “They were all right, I suppose. I didn’t find them too difficult, but I am thankful they’re over for another semester. I have not had much sleep lately.”

“Same.” Clarke stifles a yawn to punctuate her sentence. “I finished bio today, thankfully. Not like I get to escape that for next semester. Headed home for break?” Lexa nods.

“There is a taxi waiting for me to head to the airport. Are you going there as well?” Clarke shakes her head no.

“My mom’s picking me up. I live a couple hours away and I happened to get out of school on her day off, so things just worked out.” Lexa smiles tightly.

“That must be nice, to see family right away.” The girls awkwardly drag their suitcases down the stairs, trying not to hit one another in their attempts to make it down the two floors to the ground level. The chilly December air already hovers in the stairwell, and Clarke shivers, drawing her own jacket closer around her.

“Keep up tap practice while we're gone,” Clarke says wryly as the two approach the entrance to the dorm. Clarke can see her mother’s car out front, and a cab parked next to it.

Lexa smiles. "Same to you." 

“Clarke!” Abby calls, stepping out of the driver’s side of the car and approaching the girls with a smile. Clarke steps forward and hugs her mother, relieved to feel a sense of familiarity in her arms. Though she couldn’t quite shake the fact that standing next to Lexa was starting to feel just as familiar, just as correct.

Polis was truly her home now, just as much as Arkadia.

“This is my friend, Lexa,” Clarke says, and Lexa awkwardly smiles in reply. "Lexa, this is my mom, Abby." Abby smiles warmly at Lexa, and Lexa returns it with an awkward, tight grin.

"Anywhere we can drop you off, Lexa?" Abby asks.

“No, I have a taxi to the airport, thank you. I’ll... I'll see you after break, Clarke. It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Griffin.” Lexa nods at both of them before hurrying over to the cab and loading her carry-on bag into the trunk. Clarke loads her own suitcase into the car, and as they pull out from the curb, her heart squeezes into itself as she watches Lexa’s cab drive away.

 

_january, freshman year._

 

As soon as Clarke opened the door into her room on her return to Polis, Raven and Octavia’s voices could be heard chattering away next door. The familiarity washes over her, and she pauses for a moment in her doorframe, taking it all in. Christmas had been bittersweet. It was always her father’s favourite time of the year, which tinted the season with a wave of sadness, and spending it with Abby and her boyfriend Marcus was as awkward as she’d dreaded. It was nice being home to see everything she'd known all her life, but even driving past Arkadia Dance Academy, all she could think of when she passed the familiar building was her friends and rehearsals back in Polis.

Not to mention, running into Wells at the grocery store was the _worst_.

So Clarke throws her backpack on the bed, leaves the suitcase unopened in the middle of the room, and bursts through to Octavia and Raven’s side to pick up where they’d left off. The second semester kicks off the next day and it’s back to the grind: back to more bio with Finn, who was now happily dating Raven, meaning he was in her life a lot more than before. Clarke hadn’t seen Raven happier, and she was thankful for it: thankful the stars had aligned to bring her to both of them.

Lexa, of course, hardly made her appearances as Clarke had come to expect. Somehow, after Christmas she’d become even more withdrawn, more serious, and less inclined to reply to Clarke’s dance puns over their often-silent text thread. Their rehearsals had become more quiet, Clarke’s Tuesday nights slowly slipping away from what they once were. It’s not until one day, almost the end of the month, when Clarke’s strolling up the hallway in her slippers and a pair of sweats, when she sees Lexa outside the rehearsal room at all. She’s ready to buy a couple chocolate bars from the vending machine because it’s _that_ time of the month, but stops dead in her tracks at the sight of Lexa in _full_ stage makeup, strolling down the hall toward her.

Her hair is pulled back straight into a slicked ponytail, and she's wearing more makeup than Clarke had ever imagined her in: bright red lips, dramatic false eyelashes, and blush that would make a clown jealous. Her bag is toted over one shoulder, and a little flash of teal fabric and her bare stomach peeks out from under her Grounders Competitive hoodie. Clarke knew that she'd see Lexa ready for a performance at some point, of course, but she didn't expect it, especially not when Clarke herself was wearing sweatpants that should've been washed three days ago and the oldest Arkadia Dance tee she owned. Somehow, Lexa managed to still look stunning, even in the copious amounts of makeup piled onto her face.

“Hey!” Clarke greets. “You guys had a competition today, right?”

“No, Clarke, I just dress like this for fun.” Lexa cracks a little smile again, and it nearly makes Clarke’s knees go weak. It’s a bit of hope for her, hope that Lexa might come back to her after whatever had shaken her up so much over the break. “Of course we did. We won our category with the jazz line.”

“Congratulations!” Clarke exclaims. “I can’t wait to see the routine. Probably at the full-team rehearsal?”

“Unless somehow a copy gets online, then, yes, likely rehearsal. It’s quite good, but we have another competition in February and we’re going to keep working at it. It might change a little. You never know what Echo is going to throw at us last minute.”

“I should let you go,” Clarke says, despite the fact that it’s the last thing she wants to do. “But hey, great job! I’ll see you Tuesday?” Lexa smiles, the makeup accenting her features and making her look even happier.

“Of course.”

Of course.

Clarke holds onto that for the rest of the night.

 

 _march, freshman year_.

Spring Showcase rolls around faster than Clarke expects it to. Whereas there seemed to be no end to the amount of homework and papers and labs Clarke was up to her nose in, dance had a very clear finish line. The show is coming up in April, the dances wrapped up their choreography in February, and Clarke can see the end of the year approaching way too quickly for her preferences.

Two girls drop out of advanced tap a month before the show, so the spaces and timing all change drastically. A few days after the fiasco which left Luna spouting off an impressive amount of curse words as she physically dragged dancers around the room to fix their broken and awkward formations, Clarke grabs her phone off the desk after stomping her taps around on the floor and shoots a text to Lexa.

 **Clarke** :

_are you in your room?_

**lexa** :

_Yes._

 

Clarke grabs her keys as soon as she reads Lexa's message, and walks in her tap shoes three doors down the hall, pounding her hand on Lexa’s door. Lexa opens it, wearing her oversized reading glasses with her hair tucked up into a perfect ballet bun. Clarke notices the way Lexa’s sweater sleeves cover her hands and the ballet slippers she’s wearing on her feet.

Because leave it to Lexa to wear dance shoes for comfort.

“I need help with Seven Nation Army,” Clarke blurts out without so much as a hello. “But I don’t want to interrupt you, if you’re busy. Can I come in?”

“Of course,” Lexa says. “I was just about to take a break, anyways. Besides, I have a tapping board. It’s why my neighbours hate me. But it’s much nicer to practice on than the tile floors in here.” Lexa opens the door and walks across the room to close her MacBook before pulling a massive piece of dance flooring out of her closet, big enough for them both if they stand close enough. She folds her arms awkwardly in front of her and shrugs her shoulders up to her ears. It's clear that Lexa wasn't expecting company: she rarely does. “Let’s do this.”

Twenty minutes later, Clarke is sweatier and more frustrated than she was to begin with. Lexa, on the other hand, lightly skims her toe along the board while waiting for Clarke to catch up, her own demeanour barely ruffled. “Fucking hell, Lex,” Clarke mutters, angrily stomping out an erratic rhythm with her taps. “Why do people stick with a group dance for a whole year just to peace out at the last second?”

“Because they’re injured, Clarke,” Lexa says. Her voice drips with patience. “Falling down the stairs after getting drunk at a party is not a great choice a month before show.”

“Show me what comes after the pickup, again?” Clarke sighs, brushing the hair away from her sweaty neck.

“Step down hard, and just let the other foot tap in.” Lexa steps to the side, sliding the metal toe of her shoe across the floor with an ear-piercing scrape. The clicks that follow are in perfect timing and Clarke scowls. “You don’t have to be a child, Clarke. The ten year-olds I used to teach don’t even pout like that when they forget something.”

“Oh, shut it,” Clarke snaps. “You’ve been doing this since before you were born, practically.”

“Not quite.” Lexa preps and turns, a neat five pirouettes, before coming to a stop. The look on her face is stoic, protective. The lines are made of harsh stone and any ghosts of smiles Clarke knows are nowhere to be seen. It flashes Clarke back to watching the videos: the same look Lexa wore as a young child. “You have potential, Clarke. You light up when you dance. You can adjust to this.”

“You think?”

“I know.” Lexa flashes her a pressed, knee-shaking smile and Clarke pretends that she saw nothing to keep herself calm. Lexa presses play on her iPhone, causing _Seven Nation Army_ to blare from the pill speaker on her desk. The two jump onto Lexa’s dance board and get to work, feet pounding on the smooth surface. After another five rounds, Clarke feels like she has it, maybe, but she’s not convinced.

“I think we need a change of environment.” Clarke says, collapsing on Lexa’s bed.

“I know a place. My cousin went to Polis a few years ago and told me about a really great spot to practice dance or just sit quietly. Want to go?”

“Sure. Just let me grab some better shoes.” Clarke holds the door for Lexa, who throws a pair of combat boots over her ballet slippers before hurrying out the door with a nod of gratitude. They stop outside Clarke’s room so she can switch her tap shoes for a pair of converse, and she takes a brief moment as she grabs the sneakers to try and settle her quickly beating heart before rejoining Lexa.

“So your cousin went to Polis?”

Lexa nods. “Anya graduated two years ago. She was a poli-sci major as well, and she’s doing well for herself. She’s in law school now, going into corporate law.”

“Are you doing the same thing?” Lexa shrugs.

“Probably similar. I don’t want to be a lawyer, but I like the idea of working in corporate. I’d be a good CEO. I like to manage things.” Clarke nods, studying Lexa’s face as they step out into the brisk spring air. Clarke pulls her hoodie around herself and is thankful that she brought a sweater at all.

“With pre-med, you’re going to be a doctor?” Lexa asks.

“Yeah. My mom’s a doctor, and I kind of got the bug at a young age. I love doing it, there's something so fulfilling about being there for someone on their worst days and being the person to help out their troubles. I draw on the side, though, so I’d love to make a career out of that as well. But I’m good at medical things, and it’s more of a steady income than painting.” Clarke shrugs. “I’ve thought about adding an art history minor, but it seems pointless when odds are I'll barely have time to paint once I'm in med school full time.”

“Talent is never a waste.” Lexa turns down the sidewalk to the right, and Clarke follows. “I was always taught to pursue anything I had an aptitude for. But I do understand the need to pursue something for income purposes.” Clarke sticks her hands into her hoodie pockets and shrugs awkwardly. “Being a doctor sounds like you may enjoy that just as much. The chance to be able to help others must be encouraging.”

“Of course,” Clarke replies. The two walk in silence until they reach Jaha Hall, and Lexa opens the door for Clarke, letting the blonde in first. Lexa takes the lead again and guides Clarke up four flights of stairs, revealing to her a carpeted stretch that splits into a solid floor next to a window that gave them a full view of campus. The sun is nearly all the way set, and the stars are starting to reveal themselves. The building is high enough that Clarke feels separate from the rest of campus in a way: just her and Lexa. 

“It’s offices below here, but the floor is actually soundproof because at one point tech workers transported carts up here and the sound bothered those underneath. They were high-ranking enough that it got insulated, but now it’s just a lounge since the campus grew and the carts had new places to move. Not many people know about it because it’s near the grad offices, but it’s open to everyone. Anya showed me it when she gave me a private tour of the campus." 

“It’s perfect.” Clarke steps out of her sneakers. “A welcome change of pace.”

“Now, take it from the pickup, like before.” Lexa tapped her feet against the floor to test out the volume. Clarke finished lacing up and joined her, Lexa pressed play on her speakers, and they jumped back into the dance once again. With so much space, the two practiced their transitions, moving campus newspapers from a spare table into the positions of the other dancers in the group. Clarke lets her feet and the movement carry her away, resting into a comfortable ease with Lexa.

“I need a break,” she says after a while, and Lexa nods.

“Do you mind if I go over my contemporary quickly? While we have the space it's probably a smart idea."

“Not at all.”

Lexa stands in the middle of the room, holding herself taught and straight. “Can you just press skip on the playlist until you get to _Sky Full of Stars?_  Should be two songs forward.” Clarke nods, finding the song and letting it play. As soon as the first chords opened, Lexa snapped to life again, prepping herself into an impressive twirling sequence, propelled by her own strength. Clarke saw the muscles working underneath Lexa’s t-shirt and watches the length of her body finishing the turns into a kick gracefully up to her head.

This is not normal to be thinking about your friend, Clarke thinks. But sometimes she wonders if _friend_ was ever the right word to use at all.

Lexa continues through the movements, grand, sweeping gestures that fill every inch of her body with light and free spirits. She jumps, and both legs extend to the sides in perfectly angled points. The look on her face is guarded and professional, but there’s a hint of joy peeking through that Clarke draws her strength from. Lexa finishes the dance with a few slow walks from the centre of the floor, and even those tiny walks are filled with power.

“Wow.” Clarke inhales, not realizing she’d been holding her breath. “That was gorgeous. I don’t want to be crass, but I’d, like, kill someone for your legs.” Lexa smiled, folding the legs in question under her as she sat down next to Clarke. “My friends competed, so I know it’s intense, but I feel like yours was really crazy. I’ve never known someone who’s as good as you.”

Lexa nods. “I did not have time to do much other than dance as a child. Dancing and schoolwork, but the academics always came easily to me. Left me more time to spend at the studio.” She smiles, her lips tight. “The other dancers called me The Commander, because when I was five I yelled at another little girl onstage when she did not move when she was supposed to. I have the professional videos to prove it. But she did mess up. And I took it seriously.”

“When did you start competing?” Clarke asks, leaning back against the smooth window, letting the stars surround her.

“I was six,” Lexa replies. “I was the smallest child on my team when my parents signed me up, and then I grew and leapt up the levels. They always used me in the older groups to bring the age level down so we’d have a better chance. I could keep up. More than that. I was always in the front. Even before I was ready to be.” 

Clarke bites back the bitterness that threatens to escape at Lexa’s words. Clarke Griffin was a mid-to-last-row kind of dancer. It had been the case at ADA, and it was the case here. There was nothing wrong with that, but she always itched for that front row spot that was always just out of reach. There was always something: her father’s death, her issues with her mother, that kept her from reaching the emotional security she needed to train to whatever her full potential was.

She still isn’t sure what it is.

“It sounds like you always had a family there,” Clarke says.

“I suppose,” Lexa replies. She stands, quickly, and walks to the other wall of windows. “Polis University was a clear choice for me. Anya did her four years in Grounders so I knew it was a decent team and a way to put my training to good use and stay busy while completing my degree. But it’s very different here than it was at TonDance.” Lexa lets her leg move up into an extension, lifted over her head, and holds it, unmoving.

“Different bad, or different good?” Clarke asks, watching Lexa stretch her body, as if she were fighting herself for it.

“Just different.” Lexa says. She pauses, snapping her body out of the extension and turns toward Clarke. “Do you really want to know?”

“Of course,” Clarke says, and Lexa slinks down next to her. Clarke’s breath catches in her throat as she and Lexa both stretch their legs out, their backs pressed against the cool window. “TonDance was run by a woman named Nia. Still is, I suppose. As studio owner, she had full control over everything: duet partners, small groups, places in numbers, solos. It was not… not exactly your _family_ kind of studio, to use your words. The atmosphere was highly competitive. Many TonDance alumni have gone on to dance professionally, and it wasn’t a friendly bunch of people since the industry got into them. The closest thing I had to family there, other than Anya, was Costia. We were paired up for a duet together when we were ten and I… I fell in love with her not much later.” Clarke’s breath catches in her throat, but she simply nods in understanding.

“We danced so well together that we were paired up, season after season, always in the front together. As we got older, we began dating, and when I was fifteen, we had a gorgeous duet together. Really beautiful, it was this soft instrumental piece and we did a lot of lifts, so we were constantly touching. It was an emotional number, so we got carried away with one another at our last competition of the season. I... kissed her before the lights went down. Unfortunately for us, the competition wasn’t a local one where that could’ve passed without much question. It was a Nationals. In Texas.” Clarke’s jaw drops, and she instinctively moves closer to Lexa, her body parallel to Lexa’s as they rest along the wall.

“Did you…” Clarke starts, but Lexa shakes her head.

“Worse than scoring badly or just _losing,_ though that would have been bad enough. We were disqualified for _inappropriate sexual content_.” Lexa draws a breath, focusing her eyes somewhere straight ahead. “Nia was furious. She took us back into the changerooms and screamed at us for what felt like hours. ‘What did you do?’ she’d yell. ‘What kind of stunt was that? What happened to my stars? The only thing worse than not winning is throwing yourselves out!” Lexa presses her lips together, closing her eyes. Clarke, against her better judgement, touches Lexa’s knee and squeezes lightly.

“I held Costia’s hand, because she was so afraid, but Nia ripped her away from me and the force knocked her to the ground. She hit her head against the floor, but I thought it was nothing, she was fine. The next time I came into the studio, Costia was gone.” Lexa took a deep breath, hugging her knees to her chest. “Turns out she had an undiagnosed health condition. She hit her head the wrong way, her temple hit the tile in just the wrong place, and by the time she got home and was showing symptoms of her brain bleeding… they couldn’t save her.”

“I’m so sorry, Lexa,” Clarke whispers, still touching Lexa’s knee. “I can’t imagine…” Clarke was the one close to tears, not Lexa, and the blonde couldn’t fathom why Lexa was able to handle things with such detachment. Lexa calmly picked up Clarke’s hand and deposited it back onto Clarke’s own lap.

“It is in the past.” Lexa’s eyes focus somewhere in the distance again, where Clarke can’t tell if she’s staring at her toes or her tap shoes abandoned in front of her. “After that, I was alone again. I was loaded with solos for my last years at TonDance. Front-centre in every group number. Took home national championships and titles. Graduated as the top scoring dancer at TonDance. But I was always alone when I did it."

“It is hard,” she says after a few minutes, “to adjust to something like Grounders. Love is weakness, Clarke, it is the only thing I could feel after losing her. But there is too much love here. It surrounds everyone. It surrounds Octavia and Bellamy and Gina and you and Luna and Indra. Often, it feels as though it is all that keeps this team afloat. Love for the craft brings in money, has everyone donating their time to choreograph, keeps morale boosted. And I do not understand it. All I understand is taking lead positions in these dances when I earn them and working my way to running one of the numbers in a year or two. I do not understand why you have decided to be my friend. Lord only knows that no one else cares to be. When I’m in the studio, when I hit the stage, I will always be The Commander in my own mind. There is nothing else I can be.”

Clarke pauses for a moment, trying to process the weight of Lexa’s story. “Don’t get caught up in trying to understand, Lexa,” she says, rising to her feet and reaching a hand down to the girl. Lexa looks at her for a moment, and then takes her hand. “Just dance. Get back to what brought you to it in the first place. When you were three, you wouldn’t have known that kind of struggling.” She waits for Lexa to tie her tap shoes back on, and walks over to hit play on the track again.

“And maybe love isn’t weakness." Clarke pauses, turning back to Lexa, who has assumed her position again. "Maybe none of this is. Maybe love is what you need to become strong again. There’s a reason all of us are still dancing as adults. You made a choice to come to Grounders. There’s something in you.” Clarke presses play, and Lexa’s feet leap into action in perfect timing, but this time, Lexa’s smiling. And Clarke knows it.

When Clarke gets home and showers and says goodnight to Raven and Octavia after an impromptu run through their jazz number in the cramped dorm, she stops and turns on her laptop once more. Opening Youtube, she types her search in and, taking a deep breath, presses enter.

_alexandria woods costia duet_

The one she’s looking for pops up third from the top: she knows the white dresses and their pose alludes to Lexa’s words. She watches the two move around one another like second nature, the same way she and Lexa move around near one another in their tap dance. At the end, she sees Lexa kiss Costia, and for once, her face doesn’t drop back into a serious frown, despite the gasps from the crowd. She looks happy.

There _was_ something that gave Lexa that love for dance. And it’s gone.

But Clarke thinks it might be starting to come back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things got a little angsty here... but hey, lexa might just be starting to let clarke in! 
> 
> thanks so much for checking this fic out, friends!! first fics are super nerve-wracking as i'm sure some of you know and it really helps to know there are people out there reading! <3
> 
> come hang out if you want: clxrkegriffin.tumblr.com


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